


The Coward Does it With a Kiss

by TheWaffleBat



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: (more or less), Age Difference, Boat Sex, Canon Compliant, Let the old boat dad have his happy ending damn it!, Low Chaos Corvo Attano, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Picnics, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-08 06:53:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17381756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWaffleBat/pseuds/TheWaffleBat
Summary: Corvo watched him, unreadable, but that was alright - he was usually unreadable, not very talkative besides even though Emily had taught Samuel how to understand Serkonan Sign Language, and neither of them were the kind of people to constantly need to speak. If Corvo wanted to go back to the pub he would say so, and until then he was watching Samuel start to make a sandwich so at least he was willing to wait for an explanation.Samuel went to sea to forget a hopeless love. A picnic on the water for Corvo means he couldn't forget again.





	The Coward Does it With a Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Oscar Wilde's _The Ballad Of Reading Gaol_.

Corvo was… tired when he fell into the Amaranth bobbing gently in the water, and Samuel watched him fumble with all his clasps with uncharacteristic clumsiness to his fingers. It wasn’t just that he was unable to sleep at night - Samuel had seen him staring across the river long past the time either of them should have been in bed; stayed with him, sometimes, if Corvo didn’t mind the company - though that almost certainly was a part of it. Maybe he was just worn down a little from Havelock’s constant demanding he push himself well beyond what his health would allow just to get rid of just one more squad captain, one more overseer who knew a little too much, was a little too loud in their dissenting of Martin as the High Overseer. Even a healthy man would struggle to meet those demands but still Corvo pushed on, patient now to give himself the time to get it right where before he would have flung himself carelessly, too tired now to recover from any kind of mistake.

Or maybe, Samuel thought when Corvo gave up and let his coat and his weapons spill all around him, taking out the sword he never used to clean it of the river scum and sharpen its undulled edge, it was the fear; the nervous glances at the canals walls reaching high above them, a flinch when a Watchman gave a shout or a shot, and a quiet kind of terrified misery in him when another Weeper was put down. Paranoia in the constant, rhythmic ring of whetstone against steel singing across the smooth water.

Samuel was only a boatman, he had no right to tell Havelock how to use his men, to warn him that pushing Corvo like this was only going to make it more likely that Corvo’s exhausted nerves all shot to hell, like the clothes over his armour were shot to hell after a lucky guard caught sight of him, would finally snap and he’d start hurting someone. Not by choice, Samuel knew Corvo well enough to know that, but by simple inability to tell the difference between friend or foe. Samuel wouldn’t be able to get Havelock to change his mind anyway, even if he did; but maybe Samuel could do one better for Corvo, as repayment for all he was trying to do to make the world right again even if it was only for his daughter.

Ignoring Corvo’s startled little tap of his knuckles against the side of the boat to get attention - pretending he didn’t hear it over the roaring of the motor - he sped past the little dock at the Hound Pits and continued on into the open water. Through the wide sweep of the estuary, silvery in the vague moonlight that came through the clouds, and out into the open sea where only a whaling ship in the distance and the huge, towering expanse of Dunwall broke the horizon.

“Here,” He said cheerfully, pulling out a bag of supplies he’d brought along just for this and stashed in a compartment under the floor. “Not much, I’m afraid, but I think it’ll do.”

He took out some candles in small little holders and, with his lighter, lit the wicks so that their small space was lit by warm, flickering light; dancing across Corvo’s skin still dark and warm-coloured from the Serkonan sun so many decades ago. Samuel studied him, a little surprised to see the fire caught in Corvo’s eyes because they weren’t black like he’d thought, just a rich brown dark enough to be mistaken for it. That didn’t matter so much as the food, just a loaf of bread, some butter, and some cheap cheeses and tins of meat and fruits; but it was probably a lot more than what Corvo scavenged for in between knocking out guards and avoiding weepers. A knife to prepare it with, too, because a sword wasn’t very good at that.

Corvo watched him, unreadable, but that was alright - he was usually unreadable, not very talkative besides even though Emily had taught Samuel how to understand Serkonan Sign Language, and neither of them were the kind of people to constantly need to speak. If Corvo wanted to go back to the pub he would say so, and until then he was watching Samuel start to make a sandwich so at least he was willing to wait for an explanation.

Samuel took a bite of his food first, though; he hadn’t had a lot of lunch while Corvo was stuffing an unconscious whale oil refinery owner into a transport crate bound for Tyvia. “Havelock’s been working you too hard; you deserve a break. Eat.”

Apparently deciding that the middle of an open expanse of water was as good as any place for an impromptu picnic, Corvo started to make food for himself. He also pulled out a sleek, white rat from his pocket and put it on his leg, smiling down at it lovingly as he gave it small chunks of whale meat from the open tin; maybe he found the way it sat up to savagely gorge itself fat cute in the same way he’d found a stray wolfhound, clearly abandoned because of the wound that took its leg, cute when it knocked Corvo flat to the ground and lay on him. It had been growling in something that was maybe fear and maybe something else but clearly translating almost immediately into loyalty when Corvo, because of course he was unafraid of sensible things like the long drop from a roof and animals that had mauled him in the past - picked it up and took it back to the pub for a nice meal and safety in Corvo’s attic room.

The dog’s name, according to Emily, was Dog, because Corvo was terrible at naming things and didn’t like any of the more fun names she’d suggested. Samuel wondered if the only reason the other Loyalists allowed Dog to stay was because Corvo was a little more relaxed in their presence, getting a little more sleep when she curled up against the backs of his legs at night, or if it was because Corvo had trained her very quickly, teaching her to come for one whistle, a trilling little thing like birdsong, and to attack for a sharp, shrill note, and was otherwise very good at obeying sit, stay, and piss outside. In another life maybe Corvo would have left Karnaca for the land outside its walls, owning a farm and living the life he deserved, not so much a soft life but one that was the hard work he thrived under and a happiness in his own choices he’d never really seemed to have.

“What do you think you’d have done if you hadn’t come to Dunwall?” Samuel asked.

Corvo looked at him head tilted, rat half under his gentle, petting hand. Looked down at the rat. _I don’t know_ , He answered, and maybe it was truth and maybe it was just enough of one to deflect from having to give a real answer, Samuel didn’t know, so he let it drop and turned, instead, to opening the tinned fruit. _What would you have done if you hadn’t become a sailor?_ Asked Corvo, completely unexpectedly.

Samuel glanced at him. “Probably in the Abbey right about now,” He said, startled into truthfulness.

He shook his head - he’d thought of a joke that was off-colour even in his own head, about doing a man handsome not as Corvo was handsome, who had an eerie kind of beauty that Samuel thought was like how the Void was beautiful the few times he’d let himself wonder, but more like how most men were handsome; strong and solid and square jawed, unlike Corvo’s lean, angular form. He’d gone to sea to forget that and he’d succeeded this long - a joke in poor taste and a handsome man, lit by candlelight and the soft touch of the distant moon uncaring of the awful sins in Samuel’s soul, was not going to overturn that.

“Suppose I’d be married,” He said instead, scratching his chin to hide the shake in his hands because Void take him, it was hard to look away from the gleam in Corvo’s watching eyes, not love and not desire but Samuel could so unforgivably easily imagine how they’d look if it _were_. “Kids. Grandkids too, maybe.”

The more he thought about it the more he knew that, yes, he _would_ be married; to hide the filthy wants in his heart, to disguise the things in his eyes as an eccentric friendliness because no one with a wife would look at another man _like that_. He wouldn’t be unhappy if he’d married an amiable, kind woman who cooked good food and didn’t mind when he wasn’t home for long periods of time, and maybe he’d even grow to love her in a way. He’d have children because that was the normal route to take, and he’d love them all equally, of course, but maybe he’d have a daughter he was allowed to dote on, and grandchildren he could give the small boats he carved in his spare time.

He could have been happy as a married man, _would_ have been if he’d not heard the calling of the water first, but he didn’t regret ever leaving that behind him. He would have been happy but something would always have been missing and maybe he’d not found happiness as a sailor, it was rare anyone ever did anymore, but he’d found peace, and that was enough for him.

“What about you, ever think of settling down? You’re young enough.” Handsome enough, too, that anyone smart enough to see the kind heart behind Corvo’s silence would overlook the pale, mostly healed whale-oil burn splashed across his jaw from a lucky miss of a Tallboy’s bolt. Void forgive him if he ever said that out loud.

Corvo shrugged, silent because maybe he had or hadn’t, and maybe his loyalty to the Kaldwins and the rumours that had been floating around them since he’d been made Protector said what everyone thought they did and Corvo’s heart did and only ever would belong to Jessamine, rest her soul, and Corvo kissed him. Outsider help him, Samuel kissed back; softly, first, because Corvo was soft, a gentle press of of his mouth and a hand on Samuel’s knee, rat squealingly indignant when Corvo broke away only a moment to tuck her into the storage space beneath the floor.

Samuel pushed Corvo away when he came in for another kiss because _no_ , no, Samuel wanted it, he wanted it too much, was too selfish and he’d take it and he _shouldn’t_ \- it was dangerous for them, far too dangerous and Corvo was already in too much danger, put _himself_ in too much danger when the Watch happened across Samuel and he came melting from the darkness with sleep darts and wit. “The Abbey,” He murmured, hands curled against Corvo’s chest because he _wanted_ , and Corvo was a good man, a kind man when it came down do it, ruthless in how he protected people but selfless in that protection; he’d give it if Samuel asked and Samuel didn’t want to be another person who took from him just because he gave and gave himself even when he was running out of pieces to give away.

 _Outsider take him_ , He shouldn’t want to have sex with Corvo! He was decades too old and Corvo decades too young, and the simple gold locket with Jessamine’s portrait inside, recovered from Campbell, was burning hot where it rest over Corvo’s chest, bumping into Samuel’s knuckles like it’d push him away if it could. Someone could get _hurt_! The Abbey took a dim view of sex between men and women anyway, advised against it during sermons and claimed it drew the attention of the Outsider, that it was the quickest path to Void worship, but between men? And Corvo being Serkonan, handsome in his way but attractive more for that wonderful soul that made Corvo nuzzle so softly beneath Samuel’s jaw, his kisses so sweet because he knew - of course he knew, he was Corvo - that Samuel preferred sweetness. He was Serkonan, Samuel tried to focus; he was Serkonan and even though he’d lived in Dunwall most of his life he’d still be an outsider, would always be an outsider, and they’d treat it like Corvo was the one to tempt Samuel into it, absolving Samuel of any guilt just because he was Gristolian. Corvo could be _hurt_.

No, it was _wrong_ , Corvo was too young, much too young for a grey-haired old lech lusting after a man half his age who couldn’t speak even to say _no_. Corvo deserved someone better, a man made of all the softness Corvo’s life had forced him to go without, who understood more of the Serkonan Sign that was the only language Corvo could speak than Samuel did. One who knew how to heal the worst of the wounds on Corvo’s soul, the grief and terror and possessive, frightened shadowing of his child; how to manage his days of listlessness when he isolated himself even from Emily.

“The _Abbey_ ,” He insisted, not knowing why he was insisting, only that he had to hold fast because Corvo was on him, knees either side of his hips and light as any bird; not putting weight down because he’d seen how Samuel’s knees hurt in the cold still floating outside their little wellspring of warmth bubbling up from where Corvo had pressed them together, dick to dick in exquisite torture.

 _Please_ , Said Corvo, leaning back on his knees to make the room to speak. _I want_ \- his fingers curled, looked like maybe he was going to say _you_ but lost the courage, and it was just another reason Samuel should say no, but he was _tired_. Let them have this one indulgence, this one selfish desire when all their other ones had to be given up for the greater good of the empire; let them have their fun because no one else would let them, a kind of quarantine around the districts where the inverted had to go to just to feel less out of place.

Corvo kissed just as Samuel had thought he might, late at night as he waited for Corvo to appear above his boat in a flash of Void-magic and with a sword never taken from its scabbard; kind, always kind, when he threaded fingers through Samuel’s hair, but there was still his teeth, still the sharpness of his bones against Samuel’s hands, the cut splitting his lip that tasted like the copper-brightness of blood; the ghost of a bite along Samuel’s jaw.

They shifted lazily against each other, because why not? Corvo was young, yes - his face lined before its time but still little more than three decades, but Samuel didn’t think he’d ever been the kind to rush. Samuel didn’t know much about Corvo’s life, at the Tower or before it, but he knew Corvo was a street boy; he didn’t think his life had been miserable but it certainly wouldn’t have been easy and the way he savoured the softness of his blankets and his clothes the same way he was savouring the softness of Samuel’s belly, slipping beneath the shirt and pushing it up so he could put his mouth to Samuel’s chest, said as much.

Corvo undid his belt, the buttons on his trousers, so Samuel did the buttons of his shirt and shoved it behind his shoulders as a makeshift pillow; undid his own trousers while Corvo’s hands hovered at the hem of his shirt and settled instead on Samuel’s hips. Samuel didn’t begrudge him that reticence, partly because Samuel didn’t want to see the scars and partly because Corvo didn’t stop Samuel from feeling them, pad of his thumb over Corvo’s nipple and fingers curled around the strong bones of his ribs.

It was irrational, yes, and Corvo knew that too because he said, _Sorry_ , with an apologetic little smile, but Samuel didn’t much care. Let Corvo have that if it meant Samuel could kiss along the cutting edges of his collarbones, pressed together cock to cock, Corvo’s dick pointed like a spear and leaking wet when Samuel took both in hand and gave a careful thrust. Corvo’s strong legs dug into the seat and he thrust up too, settled into a rhythm that didn’t line up with Samuel’s in _fantastic_ , messy counterpoint.

Samuel moaned low in his throat because it was _good_ , Corvo was so good, far too good for a city that stripped goodness away; clever tongue against the leaping pulse in Samuel’s throat, hand in his hair and petting, not gripping, a moan echoing his but silent, trapped behind a ruined throat. “This alright?” Asked Samuel, stopping the rolling of his hips just a moment because he had to check, didn’t want Corvo’s lack of voice to mean that Samuel would be just another person who took from him because Corvo didn’t have the means to argue back.

Corvo crushed himself close until Samuel could feel his mouthed  _Yes_ , into the hollow of his throat and see the emphatic scowl on Corvo’s face as he kept up the needy, slow pace, keeping the heat between them, the closeness that they’d both craved, lonely and withdrawn and different. Samuel understood, started rocking back against Corvo again because Corvo was perfectly capable of pushing Samuel away if he wanted to ask for something, or needed that space, or wanted an end to sex.

He couldn’t speak but he wasn’t without means - hadn’t he made his wants perfectly clear? Samuel understood him well enough when they were speaking through sex, learned to know that Corvo liked a heavier touch, liked the calluses and the roughness and Samuel’s weaker, softer frame; that he liked Samuel’s meaningless babble, and liked even more the praising babble, the nonsense that spilled out of him because Corvo was deserving of it. There wasn’t enough room for him to make his signs, couldn't babble about love or how good he felt when Samuel tumbed the head of his cock and he twisted with a voiceless howl, but that didn’t mean his returned affection wasn’t obvious in the way he stilled and put his warm hands on Samuel’s painful joints. An odd and stilted kind of affection, like he didn’t really know how to show it without killing someone the same way cats killed mice for their owners, but still there, still spoken through the gleaming fire of his eyes in reflected candlelight.

There was an unusual kind of care in him, in his hands that were gentle because Samuel liked gentleness, liked the rocking of their bodies together as slow as the tides were slow; something that wasn’t love but maybe the beginnings of it, same as the care that was curling warm and content around Samuel’s heart. And a kind of absurd closeness neither of them had really in their lives because they were both wearing _socks_ and Samuel couldn’t help a grin, tipping his head close to Corvo’s as he laughed his silent laugh in the shared joke of their unusual domesticity; the joke that they weren’t men who lived the lives where their sex was slow and gentle and sweet as they were making it, socks on to keep the cold from chilling their toes and laughing through the bubbles of giddy joy because it was as _good_ as things were never good, not for them.

He wondered, through the pleasure warm and heavy - bursting like the colours of the Void when Corvo appeared above his boat after a long day - as he came, if Corvo would want him to stay, locked in mutual orbit. He put his mouth to Corvo’s hair in a clumsy kiss as he worked Corvo through the aftershocks, dragging it out just a little more, just a moment, because suddenly he didn’t want it to end.

Samuel was old, now; he’d gone to sea to forget a hopeless love and it had taken nearly a decade, but he didn’t think he could forget Corvo no matter how long he stayed out on the water, didn’t have years enough to find out. He’d never forget the river, and Corvo would never forget duty to the Kaldwins, but maybe those orbits didn’t have to be so separate. There were places where they could exist together, places where those duties overlapped, sharing socks and gloves and scarves because neither of them remembered who they belonged to first, Corvo’s long coats hung up beside Samuel’s jackets, boots knocking against each other by the door while one of them made tea.

Samuel turned away from the thought, pressing his face to the top of Corvo’s head because Corvo, it seemed, turned clingy after sex; curled up like a cat on the narrow seat next to him, apparently content to not put on his trousers even though it was cold. To spare the both of them the bitter chill making the candles dance nervously, Samuel reached for Corvo’s long coat and wrapped it around the both of them, Samuel’s jacket across their knees.

 _You’re handsome_ , Said Corvo - Samuel only caught the words because he felt the brush of fingers against his chest. _Soft_ , He added when he noticed Samuel looking bewildered, like it was any explanation at all when Samuel was just an old man with more aches in his joints than joints to ache and a handful of scars that itched when it was going to rain.

He laughed, smiled; said, “Not next to you,” Because it was true, and why not compliment each other when they’ve already had sex? He let the smile fade and turned his attention to Corvo’s hands instead of his face - he didn’t want to see the regret flash across it, but he didn’t want to take away Corvo’s only way of speaking either. “What now? Folks won’t look too kindly at us for this.”

Corvo was still a moment, but it wasn’t his contemplative, wary stillness. _I don’t care. I want this._

“And if it comes out? Folks won’t look too kindly on Miss Emily having two dads either, or on you for it. They’ll say I’m your victim.”

 _Because I’m Serkonan_ , Said Corvo needlessly, more to himself than anything else, and a muscle in his jaw jumped. _Emily won’t care_ , He said, instead of some of the nastier things Samuel could see gathering behind his face. _She likes you. And half the nobles are_ \- he made a sign, one that Samuel hadn’t seen before, but he assumed it was _Invert_. His face, for a moment, went horrifyingly blank, almost like the mask abandoned beneath Corvo’s seat. _They won’t try_ , He said, which Samuel took to mean that either he’d deliberately abandon his policy of non-lethal just to keep Emily, and by proxy Samuel, safe from allegations, or he was going to ruthlessly blackmail them.

It was enough, _Void_ , more than enough, to make Samuel give in and murmur, “Alright, let’s try.” But maybe that was more because he was weak, and selfish, and another decade alone on the water and taking shelter from storms in any of the tiny, shed-like huts along the river suddenly seemed desperately miserable and dull. He was dooming them both when, after they finally got back to the Pits, he followed Corvo up to the attic room to escape the winter cold - the Abbey would find out, and they’d capture Corvo with his soft, shining eyes when he looked at Samuel and the black tattoo branded on the back of his hand, and kill him because that was what happened to inverts; first fucking men, then Outsider worship, and then the people needed the example.

But maybe, if they were lucky, if they were secretive; maybe if Emily, after half a year at the Golden Cat, understood enough about men like them that she’d keep their relationship quiet, they could make it work, and Samuel could spend the last years of his life happy. Maybe they could have their mutual orbits overlapping each other, Corvo with Emily and Samuel the river, seperate but still together because they didn’t need every moment to be shared, just the important ones; like Emily’s upcoming coronation.

**Author's Note:**

> There really isn't enough Samuel/Corvo in the world; what, floating Whale prick gets some but sweet old boatman doesn't? For shame.
> 
> Also, for the curious, I took the term 'invert' from the late 19th to early 20th century sexology term "[Sexual Inversion](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sexual_inversion_\(sexology\))". I would like to add that yes, sexology is a real field of study.


End file.
